


tear you up in pieces

by seeingrightly



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Sexist Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 03:13:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2907188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seeingrightly/pseuds/seeingrightly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey’s wearing what used to be a plaid button-up. Ian thinks he saw Iggy wearing it recently, or a similar one at least, because it didn’t have a giant fucking gaping tear across the chest, from the armpit all the way to the buttons, material flapping loosely. If Ian were a foot or so shorter he’d probably have a clear view of Mickey’s nipple.</p><p>“What,” Mickey says without looking up from mail he’s got in one hand, a cigarette in the other. It’s not defensive but it’s not far off either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tear you up in pieces

**Author's Note:**

> based on a true story told to me after i saw [these gifs](http://ravenclawwit.tumblr.com/post/106391069770/mickey-the-purple-shirt) and was like "did mickey steal this shirt off of a butch lesbian"
> 
> set vaguely in the future with no spoilers
> 
> title from karmin's "try me on"

Afterwards, Ian wonders how long it took for anyone to notice.

After all, it’s not like the Milkoviches dress all that nicely. They’re always stealing one another’s shit, Mandy included, and it’s all wear and tear, frayed cuffs and gaping holes, too tight or too loose or just plain goofy-looking. And the Gallaghers aren’t much better, so it’s not like it’s something Ian’s ever paid much attention to.

It’s when Mickey cuts between Ian and the counter to grab something from the fridge and Ian skims a hand absentmindedly across Mickey’s shoulder that he feels the big tear in his shirt.

Ian pauses, and Yev starts to whine, because he can see Ian holding his food now, but Ian turns around slowly.

Mickey’s wearing what used to be a plaid button-up. Ian thinks he saw Iggy wearing it recently, or a similar one at least, because it didn’t have a giant fucking gaping tear across the chest, from the armpit all the way to the buttons, material flapping loosely. If Ian were a foot or so shorter he’d probably have a clear view of Mickey’s nipple.

“What,” Mickey says without looking up from mail he’s got in one hand, a cigarette in the other. It’s not defensive but it’s not far off either.

“What happened to your shirt?” Ian asks slowly.

“Nothing,” Mickey says, and then he goes into the other room.

-

Ian waits for someone else to ask, but no one in the Milkovich house even blinks.

-

He manages to drag Mickey to the Gallagher house that night, and it doesn’t take long. Carl snort-laughs and immediately sticks a finger in the hole.

“I can see your boob,” he says, smirking, but he yelps when Mickey grabs his finger and twists his whole arm with it.

Carl punches Mickey in the shoulder once he lets go, and then rubs at his hand, pouting.

“Assface,” Carl says. “Did Ian rip your shirt in half?”

His tone is mocking, and Mickey starts to look constipated as he always does when Carl or Debbie talks about sex in front of him, but then Carl gets a contemplative look and turns to Ian.

“Should I be ripping girls’ shirts?”

“Why are you asking me?” Ian asks. “Probably not unless you plan to buy them new ones.”

“I can buy them sluttier ones,” Carl says, smirking again, but then he turns back to Mickey, who grimaces upon being remembered. “No, really, how’d you rip it?”

Mickey rubs at the corner of his mouth and shifts a little before he huffs out an annoyed noise.

“I got attacked by a dog,” he says.

Ian blinks.

“You don’t look like you got attacked by a dog,” Carl says, squinting at Mickey’s chest some more.

“It was a while ago,” Mickey grumbles. “It’s an old shirt. I couldn’t find anything else that ain’t got sleeves, alright?”

Ian shoots a suspicious look at Mickey, because he has a hard time finding anything in the Milkovich house that _does_ have sleeves, but it’s possible that there’s actually nothing left in their closet. He’ll check later.

“Whatever,” Carl says, punching Mickey’s shoulder again as he heads out of the room. “It was cooler when it was a sex story.”

Ian laughs, but then he catches the calculating look on Mickey’s face, like maybe he’s thinking the story would’ve been better that way too, and Ian wonders how embarrassing the actual story must be.

-

He waits until Mickey’s about to get undressed for the night, and then he crowds Mickey up against a wall, holding his hip with one hand and slowly trailing his fingers up under the flap of fabric, watching as Mickey’s expression goes sheepish and then melts into something distracted.

Ian ghosts his lips over the shell of Mickey’s ear, humming a little, considering.

“I have a deal for you,” he says genially.

“Oh yeah?” Mickey says, working his hands up under Ian’s t-shirt.

“Mhmm,” Ian breathes, and then he bites the shell of Mickey’s ear and says, “I’ll let you tell people that I ripped your shirt if you tell me what actually happened.”

Mickey freezes with his hands halfway up Ian’s stomach. His mouth twitches. Ian gives him a few seconds, and then he presses a kiss against Mickey’s ear, patient. After a few more tense moments, Mickey heaves a sigh and lets his head thunk back against the wall, lowers his hands to Ian’s waist.

“I was ripping the sleeves off,” he mutters. “Fucked up.”

Ian looks down at the gaping tear, removing his fingers to smooth it into place.

“You fucked up a lot,” he says, his mouth twisting into a smile that’s not meant to be teasing but still makes Mickey screw his eyes shut and duck his head for a moment.

“I didn’t think anybody’d even notice,” Mickey says. “Iggy ripped a pair of jeans right down the ass and he still fuckin’ wears ‘em. Didn’t think I’d need a damn _cover story_.”

Ian laughs and thumbs at the tear.

“I can think of something that’d, uh, make the problem go away,” he says, smirking, and Mickey groans preemptively.

Ian wraps a hand around the flap, grinning, waiting.

“Fine,” Mickey says, struggling to keep his frown in place. “But you’re dealin’ with Iggy if he asks where it went.”

“Deal,” Ian laughs, and then he tugs.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr at [professorwolfjwolf](professorwolfjwolf.tumblr.com).


End file.
